


You're not Naked if you've got a Wig

by EllanaSan



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, death of Effie's wig, drunk!haymitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:19:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original Prompt : Haymitch gets like SUPER wasted, steals one of Effie's wigs and proceeds to run around naked while wearing said wig causing havoc, Effie finds out and is super pissed at him for doing the thing and tries to get him to bed or something but he's all GO AWAY WOMAN IDGF!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're not Naked if you've got a Wig

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Akachan for the beta!

** You’re not naked if you’ve got a wig **

Effie awoke to frantic knocking on her bedroom door. It was late enough that it could only be one person. However, it couldn’t be a matter of urgency given that their tributes had died that very same morning. She just wanted some sleep to try and forget the poor girl and the poor boy.

“Go away, Haymitch!” she snapped, turning her back to the rapping at her door.

The knocks didn’t stop, if possible they became stronger and stronger until she couldn’t take it anymore and threw the comforter away, snatching her dressing gown on her way to the door. She made sure the knot around her waist was secured before opening the door, not caring one bit about the disarray her hair must have been in.

“I swear, Haymitch, if you…” She stopped suddenly. It wasn’t Haymitch. “Oh.”

The boy in front of her fidgeted awkwardly under her gaze. He was so young she could have sworn he was a tribute. He couldn’t be older than sixteen. He _was_ sixteen, she read the newspapers like everyone else and she shouldn’t be impressed by a victor, she knew enough of them. “I’m sorry to wake you, Ma’am. I’m…”

“Finnick Odair!” she exclaimed, before deciding she was probably still asleep after all because what would Finnick Odair do at her door in the middle of the night? District 4 mentors had their own escort. An escort who wasn’t forced to babysit the victors all day long.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He smiled the wolfish smile that sent the entire Capitol in turmoil.

“Oh, Effie. Call me Effie, please.” She touched her hair gingerly, trying to flatten it – which was ridiculous because the boy was _sixteen_. It was his first year as a mentor, he had spent the two previous game at home, District 4 having plenty of victors to play mentors. “How can I help you?”

“Chaff sends me.” Finnick explained. “He said you better come quick before Haymitch gets himself arrested.”

She closed her eyes, counted to ten and when she opened them again, she forced a smile on her lips. It must have looked more like a snarl than a grin because Finnick seemed half-impressed and half-amused. “What has he done this time?” Haymitch had been particularly difficult since the reaping. Something about District 12 male tribute being the son of one of his acquaintances…

“Well… He’s _still_ doing it to say the truth. In the main hall.” Finnick couldn’t hide his obvious amusement. “I didn’t know a man could drink that much.”

Those victors, really… They didn’t realize how badly their behavior reflected on their escort. “Let me change.” She closed the door softly and dressed as quickly as she could. For some reason, she had trouble locating her wig and ended up grabbing her mint-green spare one from her trunk. Finnick was patiently waiting for her by the elevator doors, looking around obviously impressed. One thing District 12 had that the other didn’t, she always said, was the penthouse floor in the Training Center.

“What were you all doing in the main hall in the first place?” she scolded him because – famous victor or not – he had been an accomplice in whatever Haymitch and Chaff had gotten up to. “Have _you_ been drinking?” Finnick winced and she clucked her tongue in disapprobation. “You’re too young to be drinking. Chaff and Haymitch are _so_ going to regret whatever…” The elevator chimed, the door slid open and she was left speechless. “What _on earth_!” 

Her shriek made Chaff jump a little and he immediately came over to her, his hand and his lump raised in supplication, or as a shield she wasn’t sure. He would certainly need a shield because she was going to _kill_ _him_.

“It isn’t my fault, love.” Chaff said, trying to block her view of the hall but really… There wasn’t any blocking the numerous flashes of the photographers or the numerous cameras rolling around to find a better angle. “I told him to stop drinking. I tried to get him back to your floor but…” This was a _nightmare_.

“Tell me I am having a _really_ _bad_ dream.” she whimpered, eyes wide.

Around them, people were laughing, pointing at Haymitch who was currently singing an off-key rendition of a popular catchy song, swinging back and forth his bottle of wine, perched on the edge of the big fountain, naked as the day he was born, with her newest – _very expensive and very fragile_ – pale blue wig on his head. She didn’t even know about which part of that scene she was the maddest.

“I’m sorry, Effie.” Chaff looked properly remorseful, for once. “I really tried to get him back but he isn’t listening to me.”

“Couldn’t you _knock him out_?!” she hissed. It would have been far easier to deal with a concussion than to deal with… _that_.

“We tried.” Finnick shrugged. “He has a wicked right hook. Also, a knife.”

“Where do you want him to keep a knife? He’s stark naked!” People had begun to notice their arrival and Effie was distinctly uncomfortable at the number of flashes that were turning her way.

“Yeah, you won’t like that bit…” Chaff made a face but she could swear he was laughing. “He snatched it in the wig.”

“In _my_ wig?” She couldn’t help her horrified yelp, but horror and mortification soon left place to pure, unaltered fury. She strode to the fountain, each step punctured by the clinking of her heels, and placed herself right in front of him, her eyes firmly set on his face and _not_ on anything that was dangling too close to her nose for her comfort. “Get down, _this_ _instant_ , Haymitch Abernathy.”

She was a little too aware of how many people were watching them. She saw Chaff trying to convince the press to back off a little, Finnick helping him as best as he could, but she couldn’t handle that right now. She would have to call in a few favor for the damage control, that, if they weren’t _live_.

“Trinket!” Haymitch cried out, apparently delighted to see her. “Joined the party, have you? Come on, sing with me!”

She grabbed the arm swinging the bottle around and pulled. He wobbled unsteadily back and forth until she let go, scared he would fall into the water behind him and hit his head. Concussed Haymitch, she could deal with. Concussed, drunk, naked, wet Haymitch, not so much.

“What did you do that for?” he grumbled, after stretching his arms like a tightrope walker to regain his balance and exposing himself for the whole world to see. Flashes increased. “If you wanted a drink you could have said so. Chaff has more booze somewhere…”

“Haymitch.” She ignored the part about Chaff and his probably illegal stock of illicit substances. “You are _naked_ in a _public_ place with _cameras_. Get down this fountain _right now_ , or so help me…”

Three Peacekeepers had gathered in a corner and Effie was almost relieved. She was beginning to suspect it would be easier to get him out of jail than to get him out of there. However, the guards didn’t do anything but laugh at the ridiculous scene they made : Haymitch looking at her with a puzzled look and she trying her best to appear stern when all she wanted to do was smother him with the wig he had so uncaringly _ruined_. She could see the knife handle in the midst of the once-stylish curls.

“Princess…” He slurred slowly. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not naked, I have a _wig_.”

He had the impudence to gesture at the tangled blue heap on his head and she snapped. Enough was enough. She climbed on the edge of the fountain with some difficulties because of her dress, ignoring the way his empty hand immediately shot for her waist to stabilize her, and she snatched the wig off his head. 

“ _There_.” she said, trying her best not to lose her balance. The edge of the fountain was narrow and her heels were high. “Now, you’re naked.”

“Why did you do that for?!” Haymitch shouted angrily, advancing unsteadily on her to steal the wig.

She hold it out of his reach, careful of the blade still stuck in it. “Go. Back. To. The. Penthouse. _Now_.”

She heard Chaff’s trademark barks of laughter but she was too angry to care.

“Never!” Haymitch vowed, giving another shot at catching the wig.

She stepped back, a little too hastily. Her ankle twisted and she just had enough time to meet Haymitch’s wide eyes before she was stumbling backwards. His clumsy attempt to hold her back only resulted in him falling with her.

The fountain was fortunately deep enough for the water to break her fall a little. Her shoulder took the worst of it, really. It hurt but didn’t seem too damaged. She pushed Haymitch back from her and sat, completely wet. Water was streaming from her damp wig directly into her eyes. The rounds of  laughter only increased around them. She had never been so _humiliated_ in her _whole life_.

“Oh my god, Ma’am, are you okay?” Finnick asked, concerned, holding out his hand to help her out of the fountain.

“If you consider being on the verge of committing murder okay, then, yes, I am perfectly fine.” She replied, coldly, her eyes fixed on Haymitch. The incident must have had the unplanned bonus of sobering him up a little because he didn’t look like he wanted to argue anymore. He fished the wig from the water, knife still dangling from it, and handed it to her with a sheepish expression. She ignored him and seized Finnick’s hand, happy that there were gentlemen left in this crumbling world.

“Come on, buddy.” Chaff dragged Haymitch out of the water. “Show’s over.”

Effie hobbled to the elevator with as much dignity as a woman could muster when she was dripping wet, when one of her teen inches heel was broken and when she was still being photographed by every damn reporter in the Capitol. This incident would do a lovely aside-piece to the Games, Caesar would have a good laugh.

Once the elevator doors closed on Chaff and Haymitch, she took off her shoes and tested her ankle warily but it didn’t give under her weight. She had worse. You don’t wear heels that high and not accustom yourself to twisted ankles. 

“Are you hurt?” Finnick worried.

“You’re sweet.” she told him because neither Chaff nor Haymitch had cared enough to ask.

He smiled at her, young and yet lacking this innocence most sixteen years old still exhaled.

“How angry are you?” Haymitch asked, after a few seconds. He was only standing upright because Chaff was taking his weight. 

“How drunk are you?” she shot back.

“ _Very_.” he winced. “Less than before.”

“Does that mean you’re very angry but less than you were before, Trinket?” Chaff laughed at his own joke.

Haymitch kicked his shin, probably to convince him to stop talking.

“ _Angry_ is too feeble a word to express how I feel.” she said coldly. “And Haymitch isn’t the only one I’m furious with, Chaff. I will have words with your escort.”

It only made him roll his eyes.

“You are paying for the wig, the dress _and_ the heels.” she decided, just as they reached District 12 floor.

“What?” Chaff huffed, while carrying Haymitch to his bedroom. “It wasn’t _me_ who pushed you into a fountain, love !”

“I will pay.” Haymitch mumbled.

“ _You_ will do nothing of the sort. He swore to me he would make sure you wouldn’t drink too much.” Effie caught Chaff’s lump before he could dump Haymitch on the bed. “Certainly not. You will help him dry first. This is a bed, not a pool.”

She left Finnick in charge. She trusted him more than she did Chaff and the poor boy looked very sorry indeed about the whole misadventure. When she came back to his room, showered, hair dried and once again in her pajamas, the other victors were nowhere to be seen. They had left Haymitch flat on his bed, face down,  on top of the covers. She revised her judgment on Finnick. He clearly was as incompetent as the rest of them.

“Haymitch.” She let out a tired sigh and shook his shoulder. “ _Haymitch_.” His eyes opened lazily. “You’re still naked.”

“Love what you see?” His words were slurred and she rolled her eyes. Even though she had to admit, what she was seeing wasn’t all that bad.

“You will catch your death.” She looked around, hoping to find his nightclothes but the room was always in such a disarray that she couldn’t find a dog if it was barking. She rummaged in the dresser for several minutes and finally found a pair of sweatpants that would have to do. She was a little afraid he would have gone back to sleep but he was still watching her. “Come on, help me.” His movements were uncoordinated but she managed to pull the pants on him. He slumped back on his stomach.

“You dress me a lot.” he said. “I’m not a doll.”

She _dressed him a lot_. The things you heard! She was used to dressing him, she had to be when he insisted on passing out drunk in various places or on being sick on himself – and on one remarkable occasion, on her. She had seen everything there was to see about him.

She slapped his butt playfully. It was stupid and she blushed afterwards. But it was right there, in front of her and it was absolutely too tempting… He probably wouldn’t even remember, anyway.

“Ouch.” he mocked her, clearly humoring her.  

“I’m not your babysitter, Haymitch.” she said, sitting down on the bed beside him after helping him get under the covers. “Have you any idea how _mortifying_ that was for me?”

“I told Chaff not to get you when it’s like that. _Ever_.” He turned on his side to face her. He looked so vulnerable… It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t stay angry with him when he was staring at her like that. “I am sorry about the wig. It was fun at the time.”

“Never mind the wig.” Her poor, _poor_ , beautiful blue wig… “You could have gotten arrested. You could have gotten _hurt_.”

“Nobody would cry if I died, sweetheart.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Chill out.”

She slapped him again, on his arm this time. The whack smacked again his bare skin and he didn’t have to feign pain this time. “Ow! Are you bloody _crazy_?” He rubbed the place she had hit, glaring at her.

She glared right back. “I would. Cry, that is. So you’re not allowed to die.”

His glare faded into something more subdue that she would have called ‘affection’ were he anyone else. “Would you stay? Just… For a while?” He lifted the covers in invitation.

If there ever were an award for the most improper proposition, Haymitch would win it. She didn’t get in bed with any man but she didn’t dress just any man either.

“Don’t tell anyone.” she warned him, before slipping under the cover. His hand came to rest on her hip tentatively and when she didn’t smack it away, he wrapped his arm around her waist. It wasn’t long before they settled in a semi-embrace. She was nestled against him, his cheek gently resting on the top of her head, arms around each other and, for the first time since she had watched their tributes die, she felt like she could breathe again. They had never done that before. One of them always ended up comforting the other but it never went that far… It usually ended with him drinking himself to oblivion and she crying herself to sleep after making sure he would be alright.

“I like your hair.” he mused, absent-mindedly playing with a strand. “I don’t know why you bother with the wigs.” He had expressed that sentiment each time he had seen her without a wig, he was so clueless about fashion...

“I can’t believe you made me fall into the main hall fountain in front of _everyone_.” She was too tired to be angry but she vowed to make him pay in the morning. She would _never_ let him forget that humiliation.

“I can’t believe you didn’t kill me.” He wasn’t taking it seriously enough. She _would_ have her revenge.

“Who says I am not going to? Perhaps I just want you to be sober when I do.” Her eyes closed and she had to remind herself that she couldn’t fall asleep there. Hugging a friend in a bed was one thing, falling asleep in their bed was completely another. And they weren’t like that.

“Well, then you will never be able to do it.” he snorted.

She waited a few minutes to ask what she wanted to ask. He hadn’t answered her before, stating that it wasn’t her business but…

“Was tonight about the boy?” They never used their names after the tributes had passed. It made it easier somehow, just another boy and another girl they couldn’t save, no different than those who came before them and no different than those who would come after. “You know his father, don’t you? He told me you two are friends.” She felt the shift under her fingers, he tensed. All at once. He had been relaxed before. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“We went to school together.” Haymitch mumbled against her hair. “After the Games… _My_ Games… He’s the last friend I have from before. _Was_.”

She didn’t need to ask why the correction. She couldn’t imagine the man would stay friends with the mentor who failed to save his son, as unfair as it was. Haymitch had done his best, he always did. She made sure he always did.

“You… don’t have friends in your District?” Her voice was uncertain. She didn’t know how much she could ask. His life in District 12 belonged in District 12, he had made that abundantly clear along the years. He was friends with some of the other victors, that much she knew, and, obviously, _they_ were friends, but he never talked about anyone at home.

“Only someone who was in the Games can accept you after the arena. You know that, sweetheart.” He sounded pained, as if it was physically hurtful to say that aloud.

“But I’m not a victor and we’re friends anyway.” she pointed out because his logic was flawed. Few escorts were friends with their mentors, though. The former tributes all tended to be generally charming on camera but in real life, they were all difficult and hard to deal with. Most of them resented the escorts when they weren’t outright disliking them. Chaff, she knew, didn’t understand why Haymitch liked her so much, he himself found her dim-witted. He had implied as much several times.

“You know the Games from inside.” he yawned. “You hate them as much as I do.”

It was her turn to tense. She could swear her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. This was treason talk. This was…

“Don’t ever say that again.” she commanded in a frantic whisper. “Don’t _even_ _think_ that again.”

“Sorry.” He gathered her more tightly into his arms. “For what it’s worth… I would protect you.”

Protect her? Against what? She knew what happened to people who questioned the Games or the Capitol, everyone with half a brain knew. But you didn’t talk about it. You _never_ talk about it. It didn’t exist. It had no body, no face and no shape. It was invisible. One minute someone was there and the next they were gone, erased from existence as if they had never been born. How do you protect someone against a beast without a name ? You didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Things will change, sweetheart.” he slurred, already half-asleep. “All we need is a spark…”

“Stop that.” she hissed. She leaned on her arm to properly look at him, to make him understand how serious this all was, how potentially dangerous, but his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful you would never have thought he had just been talking treason.

It was the perfect moment to slip out of his bed and go back to her room.

She couldn’t find the strength to do so. She snuggled against him and counted the beatings of his heart. She shouldn’t stay. They weren’t like that. Sometimes, though, in the dead of the night, she wished they were. But no one would ever be the wiser.


End file.
